


Genesis

by WaitingForMy



Series: Imaginary Friend [7]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Biblical References, F/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Saucy Clown Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 07:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18425349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: You have a choice.





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, it's me, back from the void, still waiting on the teaser-trailer for Chapter Two.

You knocked on the door and waited for a reply for sixty seconds exactly. You counted. It seemed like the polite thing to do, although you knew no one would answer. The house was abandoned. Well, sort of. Abandoned by anyone who would answer the door or care about your politeness.

You turned the handle, which clicked and rattled loosely in your fist, and the door fell open, groaning all the way. You had expected to feel some hesitation upon entering the place where you had been the previous night, but hadn’t _really_ been since early childhood. Last night had been an illusion...or had it? The heavy cast on your wrist certainly gave you pause. Even so, you walked in swiftly, as if you owned the place. It felt as if the house was pulling you in. Maybe it was, or maybe it was your old friend that was pulling you in.

“You broke my wrist, you fucking asshole,” you called out.

“Don’t speak to me that way.”

His voice came from right behind you, but this time, you weren’t startled or afraid. Quite the opposite. You smirked and turned to face him.

“What are you going to do? Rape me?”

His palm connected with your cheek so fast, you didn’t even see it coming. You stumbled, heart racing. Clearly, you had gotten too cocky and were about to pay the price, but when you looked back at him, you didn’t see wrath in his golden eyes; you saw...guilt?

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“I am not.”

“I think you are.”

His face twitched, and you braced yourself for another smack, but it never came. You straightened back up and steeled yourself for what you had to do—what you had come to do.

“We need to talk.”

Pennywise quirked an eyebrow.

You withered, suddenly lacking any confidence under his scrutinizing gaze. “It’s been years,” you sputtered. “I mean, I haven’t even _thought_ about you in, like, ten fucking years! I thought I imagined you. _Everyone_ thought I imagined you. Jesus Christ, what _are_ you?”

He—It. In that moment, there was some invisible break in the facade, and it was definitely and decidedly a monstrous, inhuman _it_ —grinned, and your stomach turned.

“You cannot comprehend what I am, little one.”

“Try me.” You wished your heart and mind were as confident as your words.

You hadn’t thought it possible for that grin to get any more sinister, but there it was, and with that, the whole goddamn clown began to _glow._ You kept your feet planted firmly on the ground. You would not run. You wanted to understand— _needed_ to understand what this thing was.

You knew it was only showing you a glimpse. Hell, you probably couldn’t see or process more than a glimpse, even if it did show you everything. What you saw, though, was pure energy and raw emotion: Happiness and sadness and fear and love

( _Love is just the fear of loss_ )

and hate, and it made you sick to your stomach. A vision of Eve taking fruit from The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil crossed your mind. When the light subsided, you had not moved, but there were tears on your cheeks where there had not been before.

“Why me?” you asked, now sounding as raw and broken as you felt. You knew you had just seen something you were never meant to, and your immortal soul was probably going to suffer for it.

Then again, your immortal soul was probably going to suffer for fucking the damn thing. Twice.

“You,” Pennywise said, looking as incredulous as if you’d just asked it what your own name was, “are different than the others. You are _strong_.”

“Strong how?”

“You _feel_ . You _feel_ but you do not _fear._ ”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you can.” Pennywise sneered just slightly. “You are still human, after all.”

“I fear,” you said. “I fear lots of things! Like...I don’t know...taxes!”

And then, it—He. Pennywise. Your “imaginary” _friend_ —did the last thing you expected him to do in that moment. He smiled and laughed at you, and it wasn’t sinister; it was honestly happy. It brought with it memories of books and board games and games of hide and seek in the night and fucking daisy chains and of—

“Pennywise,” you said, shaking your head. Then, for perhaps it hadn’t really sunk in until that moment, “Holy shit, you’re here. You’re real!”

“Welcome home, [YN].”

You threw yourself on him and hugged him hard enough for it to hurt a little. It took a moment, but he hugged you back, just barely. The tips of his gloved fingers grazed the back of your shirt, and you gave him a squeeze as if to say “Go on, really hug me,” but he didn’t. You pulled back to look at him, and his perplexed expression brought you back to the night you met him, all those years ago.

“The monster under my bed,” you said. You placed your hand on his face and brushed your thumb over the apple of his cheek.

He leaned his forehead against yours and finally pressed his hands against your back more firmly. You both closed your eyes.

“You grew up,” he said, and the way he said it, thick and cold, hurt your heart.

“I am still me.”

“You changed.” He gripped the back of your shirt in two tight fists. “They changed you.”

“Then change me back.”

You both opened your eyes, and it felt like the power coming back on after an outage. Your pulse sped up. Your breath became more shallow and rapid. You had something again that you had lost.

“Change me back,” you repeated, softer this time. More sincere. It wasn’t a beg. It was a request that you somehow knew he wouldn’t refuse, and he didn’t.

He made a move to kiss you, then hesitated, narrowing his eyes and blinking as if he didn’t know how. You nearly scoffed and rolled your eyes, before you realized that…perhaps he didn’t. He had kissed you before, of course, but it had been different. It had been for him. This time, he was trying to kiss you for _you_ , and he didn’t know how.

“Relax,” you said.

He frowned. “I am relaxed.”

“No, you’re not.”

Perhaps in defiance, he leaned in to kiss you. His lips barely brushed over yours, but he took your breath away all the same.

You knew you were walking a tightrope that could snap at any moment, that _he_ could snap at any moment, that shaking hands with someone who has blood on theirs gets it on yours. You had yourself convinced that just because he could did not mean he would, and your justifications for your actions were weak but they were all you had. After all, how could you stand in front of a creature such as him and not be in awe? How could you resist exploring him—body, mind, and soul?

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Let me help you.”

You ran your hands down his arms until he got the hint and let them fall to his sides. You took his right hand first in both of yours, carefully removing his white silk gloves. Beneath it was a human hand so pale and smooth, it could have been sculpted out of marble. You smiled to yourself, realizing that he truly was a work of art, painted by that ancient consciousness you could never comprehend. By It. Pennywise was just a carefully crafted costume (try saying that five times fast). Every other form it took was just as real—or, rather, as unreal.

You tossed the glove aside and brushed your lips against his palm, before giving his left hand the exact same treatment. All the while, he stood perfectly still, watching you as milky blue began to wash the yellow out of his eyes. The color changed gradually, fading in and out like sunlight underwater. Beautiful.

You were reaching over his shoulders to untie the ruff around his neck when his eyes met yours, and you had to pause for a moment. The energy between you was no longer electric, or violent, or red. It was softer around the edges. He took your breath away not by any spectacular trick or feat, but simply because you didn’t think you needed it, if you had him. You

(loved him)

were scared of losing him, but in that moment, you weren’t afraid, because he wasn’t going anywhere. You would make sure of that. You wondered if he felt the same way about you. You

(hoped)

thought he did.

You let the ruff fall from around his neck to the floor at your feet. You placed your right hand on the side of his neck, molding your palm to his skin. He was warm there, almost hot to the touch. You could even feel an imitation pulse beneath your fingers. It really didn’t slack on any of the details, when it created him. You brushed your thumb over his throat, and he broke eye contact with you for the first time since you had begun undressing him. His gaze fell to your lips, his own parted slightly. You couldn’t help it anymore. You took his bottom lip between both of yours.

His hands trailed up your back and into your hair. His movements were still stunted, hesitant.

“You’re not going to break me,” you murmured against his lips, loving the way they felt, soft and swollen against your own.

“Yes, I am.”

And just like that, his hands fisted in your hair, and your head snapped back. You cried out in surprise and pain. He buried his face in your exposed neck and sucked in a deep breath. Your sudden fear gave way to pure arousal, as your eyes fluttered closed. It felt as though the world around you was melting.

He began to lay you down, and you were startled to feel something soft—a bed—beneath you. The back of your head descended gently onto a pillow. You opened your eyes to the familiar scenery of your childhood bedroom. The only sound was that of your own labored breathing. Pennywise was nowhere to be seen.

 _Nowhere to be_ seen, you thought, _but he’s here. He is the monster under my bed. He is here._

You had a choice, you realized. He had given you a choice: Go back to sleep, get the rest you missed out on last night, or call to him. It was the choice you made after many a nightmare when you were a child, but this time was obviously different. This time, your decision would have consequences. This was The Garden of Eden, and you could choose not to eat the forbidden fruit, to be safe and happy and blissfully ignorant in this beautiful place forever and ever…

…but that’s not how the story goes.

You took a deep breath and called to him.


End file.
